


The New Jack Merridew (and a new Piggy too)

by chinchillasinunison



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinchillasinunison/pseuds/chinchillasinunison
Summary: An inexplicable body swap between Jack and Piggy, set just before everything went to hell in canon. Not much else to say, really.





	The New Jack Merridew (and a new Piggy too)

Piggy jolted awake as the cold water made contact with his bare skin, instinctively coughing as if he had fallen into the ocean and were suddenly drowning. But he wasn't drowning, he found. There was air surrounding him, and he felt a rock wall against his back, but no water besides what was dripping off him. Evidently, somebody had dunked a large amount of it on his head.

“I didn't mean all at once!” shouted one of the two boys standing over him to the other. He took a container, most likely half of a coconut shell, and most likely what was holding the water that now drenched Piggy, away from the other, and tossed it aside. As Piggy was feeling quite discombobulated at the moment, he couldn't decipher either one’s identity by first sight alone.

The boy who had spoken, the taller of the pair, turned his attention to Piggy. He got down on his knees and leaned in close to his face, so much so that Piggy could feel his breath. It was all-in-all uncomfortable, but at least Piggy could get a better look at the boy. He might have been asked if he was alright, but he wasn't paying attention, because now the name attached to the face was coming to him.

“Maurice?” said Piggy finally, “What’re you doing here? Didn't you leave with--” he noticed the other, one with dark skin and long black hair that covered his eyes, “Roger. Maurice and Roger. You're… you're both back? Why? Didn't you just leave to go run around with the rest of them hunters?”

Maurice's face screwed up in confusion, “No, no we didn't. We came over here not too long ago. And the hunt’s been delayed because of what happened to you. You know, when you fainted?”

“Oh. Well... alright then,” said Piggy, baffled by the fickle nature of public opinion that caused some to switch sides so easily, and the thought that anyone on this island, especially those under the command of Jack Merridew, would cancel plans for his sake, “But no matter what team you're playing for, I don't understand why you care ‘bout me all of a sudden.”

“Well, of course we care!” exclaimed Maurice, spreading his arms out for emphasis, “You're the chief after all, and we knew that you’d be real peeved with us if we went off to hunt without you--”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Piggy cut him off quickly, “What’d you just say?”

“You’d be real peeved if--”

“No, not that! What you said before!”

“I said that… we cared about you?”

“No, no,” sighed Piggy, feeling as if he was in a cheap vaudeville routine, “After that, but before the other thing!”

Maurice tilted his head, “I said you’re the chief.”

The phrase was one he never thought he'd hear in reference to himself. He still couldn't believe it, even if he heard it twice.

“B-but!” he sputtered, “I'm not chief! Ralph's chief!”

“Maybe that's what _he_ likes to think, on his side of the island… but not here...” Roger spoke out harshly, in a way that sounded more like a growling dog than a young boy.

Maurice played off of Roger's unexpected comment.

“Yeah, you're the chief around here. Don't you remember, Jack?”

The use of the name struck Piggy hard, like a railway spike through his brain, and jarred him as such that he sprang to his feet, stumbling.

Odd... his center of balance felt… off, for some reason… and did Maurice and Roger somehow get… shorter?

The emotions that name stirred in him consumed his mind at the moment, so these observations weren't properly processed by the rest of his brain after their initial detection, and remained overlooked.

“Jack? _JACK?!_ ” He went off on the two, “I’m not Jack! Why would you call me Jack?! Do I look like Jack to you?!”

Maurice and Roger exchanged glances, the former one of worry and the latter of an only mildly interested puzzlement.

“Alright, Jackie…” said Maurice as he turned back to Piggy, in a voice that was trying desperately to keep its natural good humor, “I think you might've hit your head on something when you fell. We’ll call off the hunt today so you can… sort yourself out…” he quickly added, fretfully, “If that's alright with you, of course! I mean, if you still want to go, that's fine, that's fine! You're the chief, after all! It's not like I'm telling you what to do or anything!”

He punctuated this with a nervous chuckle. It was clear to Piggy, from the absolute, genuine dread that had briefly crossed his face, that Maurice really did believe that he was talking to Jack Merridew, and that this wasn't some kind of strange joke they were playing on him.

And that's when Piggy realized. Clear. He could see them both, and the rocky environment surrounding them, in perfect clarity. That wouldn't be possible with his specs now, given how Jack had broken one of the lenses, and it certainly wouldn't be possible without them either. He brushed his hand against his temple, and felt no cold smoothness of a glasses frame. His heart stopped. Slowly he dragged the hand down his face and into his line of sight. It was slim, the skin burned a bright reddish-pink and the back dusted with brown freckles that ran down the wrist and beyond.

No. No. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

He moved the arm out of view and stared down at the rest of himself… if that even was the right word to use. It told him a similar story. A similar, horrifying story, but this one involved much more war paint. He scurried backward into a rock wall, as if trying to flee from the body that, for all intents and purposes, was now his own. Just looking at it, the name of its true owner echoing in his mind, churned his stomach something fierce. He gagged as bile started gurgling up his throat. He attempted to swallow, but it was a futile effort. He collapsed on his hands and knees, and vomit coated the cave floor beneath him.

Maurice, who had, along with Roger, been witness to the whole display, piped up after a good deal of delay, “Well then! That was… something. I’ll just leave you alone then… to… rest...” he turned to Roger, “And you. You stay here and keep an eye on him, alright?”

“Why should I?” said Roger irritably, “You're not chief. You can't tell me what to do.”

“I may not be, but he is,” he pointed to the figure still leaning over the pool of vomit, “and trust me when I say that when he comes to senses, if he found out that we’d left him all alone like that, he’ll have both our heads.”

Roger thought this over and begrudgingly accepted the task. Maurice, satisfied, strolled away, as the stench of half-digested pork wafted through the air.

It took Piggy a good amount of time to gather himself up again. When he broke out of his trance of staring at the skinny ginger boy reflected in the bile pool, he curled into himself, sitting back down on the ground and hugging his knees. Even this did not provide any comfort; all it did was further emphasize in his mind how gangly he was now. It felt so… wrong. There was no softness to it, no real give, just rigid bones and tight muscles wrapped up in sunburnt skin. He untangled his arms and let them fall to his sides, his hands hitting the rocky ground with a hearty smack.

“Well, congratulations,” he muttered wryly under his breath as he scowled at his bony, freckled knees, “You're the new Jack Merridew.”

He stood up again and started to pace, careful to avoid the vomit puddle... and was also careful in general, as his new legs seemed impossibly long and spindly. He wondered how Jack could even walk with these things. They felt like stilts. He put a finger in his mouth and chewed the nail as he thought about what he should do. He now looked and sounded like everything he hated and feared, but… maybe... this wasn’t as bad a twist of fate as it first appeared. Maybe it was, in fact, a blessing in disguise. He cringed at the words “twist of fate” and “blessing” that his brain used to describe the situation, as part of himself still wanted a logical explanation, even if he knew there wasn’t one. But regardless of his feelings about it, since he was physically Jack but still himself mentally, he realized that he could use the position to his advantage. People thought he was a leader now. A chief! People would actually listen to him, for once! He could steer these mindless hunters onto the right track, and they could actually do something with their manpower to help them get rescued!

The idea of his efforts leading to their salvation, of being so useful, excited him so much that a surge of adrenaline coursed throughout his new body. It manifested in a high-pitched giggle, an eager stamping, and tightly clenched fists that he brought close to his chest and shook with giddy cheer. This celebration was short-lived, however, as he could feel Roger's suspicious glare poking daggers into him even from beneath those thick black bangs.

Piggy turned to the boy watching him and cleared his throat awkwardly. He straightened his back and stuck his chest out, trying to give off a leaderly air to offset how he was just squealing like a schoolgirl.

“Roger…” he addressed the boy who was now, he supposed, his aide-de-camp.

“Yes?”

“Umm…” he was about to give an order, but fell silent. Roger was an intimidating figure indeed. You could never see his eyes, but instincts assured you that they were constantly following you and constantly glowering. Piggy hadn't given him much thought before-- he’d had tunnel vision regarding Jack, but now that he was stuck at that end of the tunnel he could see the danger Roger posed quite clearly. To say that Roger knew Jack well would be an understatement; he was practically his shadow, after all, and to Piggy, he was an enigma. A very dangerous-looking enigma. Piggy could tell he already knew something was off, so he thought it best to not say anything that might incriminate himself further. At least when it was just the two of them in a room together, anyway.

“Erm, I’m going to, uh, head out,” he said finally, his voice betraying any sense of confidence he was trying to exude, “I’ve got some… chiefly business to take care of.”

He walked past Roger, nervously, never daring to take his eyes off of him until they were both out of each other's sight.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack Merridew grumbled as sunlight shone brightly through his eyelids. He blinked them open and blotted out the sun with his arm. He turned his head, and saw ill-defined colors and shapes that suggested the edge of the jungle. He rubbed his eyes and looked around again, thinking they had simply gone bleary from his sudden lapse in consciousness. But, to his surprise, his vision hadn't changed at all. There must've been some sand, or dirt, or something that got in his eyes when he fell. He rubbed them again, this time much more harshly, to the point where it made them sore. He brought his hands away from his face and looked at them. They were still only blobs of color. He huffed noisily in frustration. Whatever had gotten into his eyes was persistent, that was for sure.

A small voice broke out nearby him, “Sam, Sam, did you see that?”

“What?” asked a voice that sounded identical to the first.

“He moved.”

“How’d he move? I didn't see anything.”

“That’s 'cus you weren't paying any attention. His hands. They moved, I think. Up his face.”

“Does that mean he's up now? Should we tell Ralph?”

Jack irritably turned in their direction, “What are you two gits going on about?”

The twins stood quietly for a moment, and then fled, presumably to find Ralph.

Great. Just… perfect. He and Ralph had parted on such... lovely terms earlier. Them meeting again, especially in a moment of weakness such as this, would surely produce only the most pleasant of atmospheres…

He needed to get out of there. He needed to get back to Castle Rock.

He tried to stand up, but as he did so he noticed something peculiar and stopped halfway. Just lifting his upper body took a great deal more effort than before. He’d say it was almost tiring. He felt… heavier, somehow. Heavier and a lot more unfit.

He exhaled. The noise that escaped his lips was sharp and jagged, like it was a rusty sawblade attempting to cut through the air.

He inhaled. Or, at least, he tried. It was as though there was a rope tied around his chest, and the more he fought against it, the tighter it got. He could only get a few short gasps.

Heavy. Unfit. Can barely see. Can barely breathe.

It was a laundry list of traits that belonged to someone he knew. Someone that certainly wasn't him.

“No…”

It didn't make sense. None of this made any sense.

He was staring now at the blurry shapes that made up the rest of him, still gasping, but now it was interspersed with coughs. Even with his sight in such a sorry state, it was easy to tell that it wasn't the same body he had woken up in that morning. It was too thick, too round, too soft…

Too fat.

The invisible rope tightened.

“Oh God… no… please no… not him... anybody but him…!” he wheezed, burying his face in his hands, with both desolation and rage building up inside him as the truth came into focus.

It was not too long after he began silently stewing in these emotions that Jack could sense a presence standing over him.

“Piggy…”

It was Ralph's voice, Jack could recognize it anywhere. He didn't dare look up, however. He didn't dare respond to the name, or to the person saying it, at all. It would be shameful to even associate himself with anything surrounding that name. Accepting this would be like admitting defeat.

“Piggy!” Ralph repeated, his annoyance clear in his tone, “It's your turn to watch the fire. I got your specs right here. They fell off your face when you… fainted, I think?” He paused (in thought, Jack supposed), “Is… is that an ass-mar thing? Or something else? Simon faints a lot but I'm pretty sure he doesn't have--”

He paused in his brief tangent as Jack lifted his head and looked up at him. The shapes that made him up were as indistinct as anything was without those glasses, but that shock of yellow hair was unmistakable. He seemed taken aback a bit, the figure with the yellow hair, as he moved away slightly as Jack uncovered his face, but then after a moment peered forward again. In an unpleasantly close proximity to Jack's face, no less.

“Are… are you crying?”

Jack blinked and felt tears roll down his newly chubby cheeks. Angry, despairing, bitter tears. He touched the wetness first before quickly wiping it away. It was strange. There was so much to take in in that moment that he hadn't even noticed until Ralph pointed it out. He tried to regain his composure after his face was dried.

“No...” he replied after a few seconds of delay, his face still red and his eyes still tearful.

Ralph got the message and left the matter at that, but still held out the specs expectantly. Jack put a great deal of effort into purposefully ignoring them.

“Alright… if that's how you're going to be about it...” said Ralph in a high, breathy voice, more to himself than to the person he was talking to. He dropped the specs into the sand and turned around, heading back to his camp.

After Ralph disappeared, Jack looked over at the pair of glasses as they glinted in the tropical sun. He made a movement towards them, then paused.

Did he really want to see himself like that? To see all the grotesque features of that greasy little pig applied to himself, in full detail? Just knowing what happened to him had already greatly ruined his pride, but seeing it so clearly would just rub salt in the wound.

But then again, what other choice did he have? Stay blind? What good would that do for him? Nothing in the long run, he knew.

And so he decided, and so he began the exhaustive exercise of moving about with this new anatomy. He flipped over onto his hands and knees and tucked one leg beneath himself and pushed up. He must have overestimated Piggy's weight, because, while still bringing him to his feet, this also launched him stumbling backward at a disarming speed. Luckily, there was a nearby tree that he managed to grab hold of before he toppled over and had to repeat the ordeal over again.

The object in the sand glittered and Jack stared at it for a few seconds, his hands still gripped firmly to the tree’s bark, him still debating in his mind whether he wanted it in the first place. Then he took a pensive step towards it, letting go of the trunk and wobbling around as he tried to find his footing. It was a surprisingly brief struggle, as Jack found that Piggy’s stubby legs were oddly sturdy. He supposed they had to be, with all that weight they had to haul around…

Then came walking. The most difficult part. Not in a physical sense, of course. Jack knew how to walk, obviously, and the mechanics here were just the same as they used to be. No, walking was far more taxing on Jack’s mind than Piggy’s body. With each step, he felt the fat jiggle and bounce. He was hyper-aware of every single excess square inch of it that clung to every body part, and it was absolutely nauseating. It was like a prison that encased every fiber of him. A prison of cellulite.

Heh. Cellulite. Prison. Like a prison cell. If he ever got back to his old body, he should tell Maurice that one. He likes puns like that...

No, no, why would he even think that? _If_ he got back? Of course he would!

Of course…

He distracted himself from the uncertainty of that thought as he found himself standing directly over the specs. He bent over and fished them out of the sand, shaking some loose grains off and bringing them up to eye level. He squeezed his eyes shut and quickly shoved them onto his face, wincing, as if he were pulling off a band-aid. He slowly opened them again and blinked a few times, trying to readjust to actually being able to see. Or, at least, partially. He grumbled. He almost regretted slapping the pig in the face earlier. Not out of any sense of empathy, of course-- he deserved it, after all, with all his whining-- but more because now he only had one “real” eye.

He scanned the area. His assumptions had been correct: he was on the edge of the jungle, against the shoreline. Looking down, he noticed indentations in the sand indicated that he was dragged here-- or, at least Piggy's body was dragged here. He brushed off the sand on the back of his legs and arms that he was now aware was there.

Hmph. If Samneric were under him, he would punish them for such messy, shoddy work. But then again, if he had to lug Piggy around, he wouldn't be happy about it, and he certainly wouldn't give it his best effort, either...

In cleaning himself off Jack found himself staring off absentmindedly into the forest, and, through his blind eye, he could swear he’d seen a dark shape dart out of view. Jack was gripped once again by the predatory instincts that the island had brought to the surface, but stopped himself short.

In this form, he had nothing. No knife, no spear, nothing. Not even his natural athleticism. He was completely defenseless.

And the beast…

He felt a pang of fear in his chest. Not just out of fear of the beast, but of his own complete powerlessness as well.

He… he needed to get out of here…

So he ran off to find the closest place with other people that he knew of, terror overriding his shame in returning. That didn't matter now. He needed the protection of a group, and at that point it didn't matter who.

He ran back to Ralph.

 

* * *

 

It was slow at first. Almost unnoticeable. Like sand falling in an hourglass after it is just overturned. But, just like that hourglass, after a while you notice the amounts even out, until only a few more grains are in the top, primed to fall to the bottom.

Ralph met face-to-face with these last few grains as they made the transition.

“So, what happened? Why’s everyone come crawling back?”

Maurice sighed in exasperation, “Honestly? I don't know. One minute Jack was doing just fine, giving us orders, when he just… faints! He just faints, like he's Simon or something! He’s never done that before…”

“That's queer…” replied Ralph, rubbing his chin in thought, “Do you think there might be some sort of sickness going around? The same thing happened to Piggy over here…”

“Maybe. But that's not even the strangest part! When he woke up, he didn't even know he was Jack! He actually yelled at me for calling him by his own name!”

“Really?” said Ralph, leaning towards him eagerly, now very much invested.

“Yeah! Then while he was looking around he got the oddest look on his face and threw up. So maybe you’re right, maybe he is sick.”

“Huh…” Ralph looked away briefly to digest the information, “What happened after that?”

“Well I, uh, told him to get some rest because he clearly wasn't feeling well,” Maurice continued, “And he did for a bit. But then he came back out and… well…”

“It wasn't Jack.”

That came from Roger, who was a few steps behind Maurice. He was holding a hunting knife, staring at it and turning it around in his hands. His interjection was the first time he looked up from it during the entire conversation, and also the last.

Maurice and Ralph looked at him in quietly for a few seconds. Maurice turned back to Ralph and looked like he was about to continue, but when he opened his mouth Roger continued with his string of thoughts instead.

“I took this. Right in front of him. I just... I picked it right up. He saw me do it. He… he let me take it. He just... didn't care. His _own_ knife…”

More silence.

“Yeah...” Maurice finally ventured to speak again, “He was saying that he was Jack, responding to Jack, but… he... changed. He was acting sort of like you, actually. Sort of. He wanted us to do a lot of the same things, I mean. Said we weren't even gonna hunt anymore, that we were just gonna focus on getting rescued. Nobody liked that one, especially. Lots of them got mad because of it, 'cause they wanted what he was pushing before, ya know, something different, and started leaving. I told him to take it back, but he wouldn't budge. He just let them go!” He paused for breath, “Anyway, it was getting to be too much for either of us over there, and that's why we're here now.”

“Hmm… that is very, very queer…” Ralph thought out loud, “You know, it's funny, when Piggy woke up he was acting different too. Not to that extent, though, but there was… something. He was a lot more short with me, and he was crying for some reason…”

And, well, speak of the devil. What should waddle up the beach with its typical fretful expression but the fat form of Piggy? He saw the pair standing in front of Ralph and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Maurice? Roger?! What the bloody hell are you doing here?!”

“Relax, Piggy,” assured Ralph, “It's nothing to get worked up about. It's the opposite, really. Jack's dug his own grave. We won't have to worry about him again.”

His eyes went wide in astonishment and he said breathlessly, “What? Jack did what?”

“...I would've thought you'd be more relieved by that…” commented Ralph, lackadaisical.

The bespectacled boy’s eyes flicked around rapidly, the look on his face suggesting he was having some sort of internal crisis. In this, he looked down at himself, and then his hands specifically. Whatever his mind had been reeling over seemed to be answered by the downward glance, and it didn't seem to be an answer he liked, for his open fingers balled up into fists, and his expression changed to one of pure rage.

“Maurice,” he said through gritted teeth as he slowly approached, “You tell me just what he did. _Right. Now._ ”

He was so close now that Maurice could see the wild intensity in his eyes. However, the ridiculousness of any sort of anger applied to Piggy's blubbery face was terrifically overpowering. He burst out laughing.

“M-Maurice!” the other seemed shocked by the jeering, as if it had never been directed at him before, “What do you think you're doing?! Maurice!”

Maurice kept on going.

A blush overcame the fatter one’s cheeks; a blush of both fury and embarrassment.

“S-stop it! Maurice, listen to me! Tell me what he did! Tell me!”

Maurice pointed a finger at him and said to the others, “L-look at his face! It's bright pink! Now he _really_ looks like a pig!”

Maurice burst into another peal of laughter as Roger lightly chuckled. Even Ralph had to suppress a giggle at the observation.

Despair flashed briefly across the target’s face before it was drowned out by even more anger. The pink shade they had mocked darkened to a crimson, and the boy went off on a tirade.

“SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! DON'T YOU REALIZE WHO YOU'RE TALKING TO?!”

“Well, I feel like we're all pretty aware…” snarked Maurice, “You're the little piggy that goes 'wee, wee, wee’ all the way home, right?”

The other party paused and swiveled his head in Maurice's direction with such speed that it seemed as if he was momentarily possessed by a particularly livid barn owl.

“MAURICE ISAAC WALSH! ONE DAY, I SWEAR, I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS! YOU’LL NEVER CRACK ANOTHER JOKE AGAIN WHEN I GET DONE WITH YOU! JUST YOU WAIT!”

The other three stood silent while he simmered down, Ralph exchanging glances with Maurice, and Roger still looking at the distressed figure before them. He turned and went back into the woods to sulk, and Roger trailed close behind.

Roger looked back at the other two before he made it all the way into the forest. He was surprised to see that they had continued on with whatever conversation they were having before, and that they didn't even think to follow. He couldn't believe they hadn't noticed it.

Maurice Isaac Walsh...

How would Piggy know that? Maurice wouldn’t've told him. _He_ certainly didn't. And Jack...

He knew something. He had to know something. Something about what happened to Jack.

Was that irrational? Maybe. But all he knew was that Piggy knew more than he should, and he had no other leads.

...that and he hadn't hunted once today, and he needed to get all his pent-up aggression out somewhere. This was still Roger, after all.

He waited until he was sure they were deep enough in so that no one else could hear or see them. The fatty had slowed naturally to a stroll, and Roger decided to make his presence known.

“You, Fatty!”

The other jumped a little at the sudden noise, but otherwise didn't acknowledge him.

“Hey! I'm talking to you! Turn around and face me!”

He sighed, irritated, and turned around. He didn't seem afraid, like Roger had expected, only annoyed that he had been disturbed.

“What is it, Roger?”

Roger hid the knife behind his back.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Roger's grip on it tightened. Was he being coy?

“Everything! What you know, how you know, and who's telling you!”

“What do you mean?”

Roger made a noise that was something of a grunt as he smacked his own forehead.

“Maurice's name! His full name. How would you know that? The only person on this island besides me or him that could know that was Jack, and look what's happened to him!”

He raised an eyebrow, “What are you saying? That you think _I_ had something to do with it?”

He’d placed his hand over his heart theatrically on that “I”. Yes, he was definitely being coy, but Roger sure as hell didn't understand why.

“I don't know!” Roger exclaimed, such a thing that was definitely not in his typical character, “I don't know. All I do know is that my best friend is gone, and you seem very keen on finding out the particulars of it. Almost like you know something about it we don't.”

Roger was inching closer and closer, like a cat closing in for the kill.

“So tell me what you know.”

There was a tension in the air that hung with the jungle heat. Roger could tell that Piggy was feeling it, but trying not to acknowledge it.

“Oh, trust me, Roger, I would _love_ to...” there was a great deal of sarcasm in that “love”, “...but I can't. If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. You’d think I'd gone around the bend!”

It was the wrong answer. Roger, in one swift motion, pulled out the knife, pinned Piggy up against a tree, and held the knife to his throat. The other boy didn't even have time to properly react before he was put into such a terrifying position.

“Roger! Roger! Wait! Y-you don't understand!” he stammered as he tried and failed to push Roger off of him (and not get his throat slit in the process).

“No! No more excuses! Just answers!” Roger tried to keep up an intimidating frown, but he couldn't help but crack a grin at the pure horror he inspired as he pushed the blade closer to the boy's neck, “Now squeal, pig!”

“Alright, alright!” he panicked, “Roger, I know this will sound absolutely bonkers, but--”

He stopped himself, like he just noticed something, and all fear dissipated from his face. Again he just looked miffed. Roger was so puzzled by this that he drew the knife back a little.

“Roger…” he looked him dead in the eyes, “What are you doing with my knife?! How many times have I told you not to touch my things?!”

Shock overtook Roger, and he slowly backed away, the knife unconsciously slipping out of his hand, his jaw dropping.

That… that was Jack that just came out of Piggy's mouth…

And the Jack he’d seen earlier that day, the one who didn't seem to know his own name, the one who didn't care about hunting in the slightest… that Jack…

Roger grasped at his head as the world spun around him and the pieces started falling into place.

The boy who Roger had assumed up to that point was Piggy smirked in amusement at how utterly confounded he was. He then bent over and picked up Jack’s hunting knife.

 _His_ hunting knife…

“And I’ll be taking this back, thank you very much!”

He was about to walk past Roger, but paused right beside him.

“Oh, and Roger?” he addressed him in a strange, playful voice, “Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

And with that, he left Roger standing like a statue in the middle of the woods, completely dumbfounded.

 

* * *

 

 

In hindsight, Piggy should’ve known better than to expect them to follow him blindly. After all, the old Jack had convinced them Ralph was unfit to lead because he was “just like Piggy” (which Piggy found laughable; if Ralph was really “just like him”, he wouldn't have tolerated Jack's nonsense for as long as he did), and Jack had marketed himself as the better candidate simply because of how un-Piggy-like he was, so when he took over it was only natural that that crowd desert their leader again for the exact same reason. It made sense, and Piggy tried to convince himself that it was for the best that Jack Merridew lost his power and influence, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed with how spectacularly his plan failed.

He found it funny. When he walked out of that cave and stood above his subjects, when he saw their faces looking up at him expectantly, admiringly… he’d almost wanted to abandon that plan, to play that role that they wanted him to, just to make the glory he felt last longer. For the first time in his life, Piggy had felt that chalice touch his lips and smelled the lovely, intoxicating odor of that sweet, sweet wine. And yes, he was oh-so tempted to sip. And he did. A little. He just soaked in that moment before he moved on. It wasn't enough to take his wits away from him, of course; he certainly wasn't drunk with power in that moment, maybe just a bit buzzed.

Yeah, just a bit…

He had departed onto this train of introspection while he stood in the water just beyond the shore, washing off the war paint that covered his body-- the last remnants of the old Jack. He used the surface of the water as a mirror as he splashed and scrubbed off his face. When he finished, he stared at his reflection for a bit. Unlike back in the cave, however, this wasn't in horror. It was a strange mix of feelings that stirred up inside him, both positive and negative. He had grown accustomed to the face he saw, and began to see shades of himself in it instead of just old Jack. He’d almost come to embrace it in some way.

The New Jack Merridew...

He’d said it to himself as a joke before, but he’d come to find that it had a nice ring to it, now that he thought about it.

It was certainly better than Piggy, anyway…

His hand hovered over the band that tied back Jack’s wild, long hair. Slowly he untied it and let the red curls fall over his eyes. He closed them, pinched his nose shut, and took a gulp of air as he ducked under. He felt the hair billow out and heard the strange noise that was underwater splashing as the rest of him was surrounded by the cool blue, and it seemed like he had entered an entirely different world. It was a world he could never experience before, on account of his asthma. He surfaced, his hair naturally slicking back out of his face, and he smiled. It was one of the nice things about his new body. He didn't have to worry about his asthma, or constantly have to watch his back out of fear of being assaulted some bully, or anything like that. He was so… free.

He let himself float there, the waves gently rocking him to and fro, and for one golden moment Piggy had nothing in particular on his mind.

“Jack?”

The voice sounded so distant Piggy thought he just imagined it.

“Jack!”

No, that was definitely a real person. One person in particular.

Piggy's head perked up from the water, a smile broad on his face.

“Ralph!”

He stood up and splashed through the water up to shore.

“It's so strange seeing you all alone…” commented Ralph when he finally arrived, “When I first met you, you and your choir were so close together you looked like one big animal. And now…”

“You’d be surprised,” Piggy rubbed his arm shyly and shivered from how soaking wet he realized he was, “I'm actually a bit used to the feeling…” he looked down at his feet, trying to avoid Ralph’s gaze, “...of being lonely, I mean...”

Piggy wasn't sure what to say. He knew he should apologize for the things old Jack did, but at the same time felt like he shouldn't be the one cleaning up after someone else's mistakes.

“So…” Ralph began, “what now?”

“Well, of course I’m coming back, for one thing…”

“You are?” Ralph sounded pleasantly surprised.

“Yeah, yeah, but… Ralph… before I do, I…” he was trying to sound as guilt-ridden as possible for things he never actually did, “I just wanted to say that I’m so sorry for everything. I realize now that for the longest time I’ve been nothing but a cruel, selfish, stupid twat who had no idea what he was doing, who--!” Piggy stopped and cleared his throat in an attempt to reel himself back in, as the apology had transformed quickly into a rant, and continued, “But, you see, I’m better now, now and forever! I’ve had a real change of heart, you might say, and I'm glad for it! Anything's better than the person I was before!”

“Oh, come now, Jack,” said a voice a little distance behind Ralph, in a mocking tone, “I think you’re being a little bit too hard on yourself...”

Piggy stepped to the side so he could see the speaker, and what he saw left him gobsmacked and horrified. It was… himself, specs and all, who began sporting a devilish grin as he delighted in the genuine article’s distress. Piggy had never stopped to consider what happened to his own body during this whole ordeal, it'd never crossed his mind, somehow. But it was staring him in the face now, _with_ his face, and the process of elimination that kicked in and determined the doppelgänger's true identity did not help matters in the slightest.

“Oh, hey Piggy!” said Ralph, ignoring the hostile atmosphere that was forming around them, “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

The real Jack, likewise, ignored Ralph entirely, pushing him out of the way.

“I mean, at least you actually go out and do things!” he was trying to get into Piggy's face, but his new diminutive stature prevented him, “Unlike me! I'm just a useless, lazy fatass who sits and complains all day!”

“I... I…” Piggy struggled for a comeback, his heart racing. All the security he felt in this new body had been erased. He wasn't safely hidden behind someone else's face anymore. In a way, he felt like his old self again. Or, at least, he felt just as vulnerable.

“I can't believe you’d say that!” he shouted back, “You might not be the most active or fit person, but you’ve got some merit!”

“Oh yeah? And what's that?”

“You're… umm…” Piggy searched his mind for his own redeeming qualities, for things his auntie told him back home, “You're smart! And you… you put everything into what you do! And you stick to your guns, and--”

“Oh, please!” Jack rolled his eyes, “As if any of that _means_ anything!”

“It means a whole lot of things! And maybe if _I_ wasn't so self-absorbed and didn't fill the rest of my brain-space with nothing but _hunting_ and _meat,_ I could _think_ of those things!”

“Why, you--” Jack began, but was interrupted by a third-party who cleared his throat. The pair turned their heads and faced Ralph. In the heated confrontation they had completely forgotten he was still standing there.

“I really don't want to interrupt, but…” he looked between them, perplexed, “were you two just… complimenting each other just now?”

They glanced at each other and then back to Ralph. That _was_ what it must've looked like, wasn't it…

They backed and turned away from each other, silently and mutually agreeing that the last thing either of them wanted was to even be perceived as anything other than the enemies they already were.

“Al... right…” said Ralph, now even more bewildered, “You know what? I… I won’t ask. Let's just… get back to camp. We’ll have a meeting when we get there.”

And so the three left, with Ralph leading and the other two lagging behind, their voices low, as not to bring their discussion to Ralph’s attention.

“Why are you walking so close to me?” Piggy asked, irritated, “Why don't you go ahead with Ralph or something?”

“I’ve got to keep an eye on you while you still look like me,” Jack explained, “I don't want you pulling any more tricks!”

“You're one to talk about tricks…” Piggy muttered.

“Say that to my face, you fat slug!”

Piggy raised an eyebrow. “Why are you still calling me fat? I'm in your body! You're just calling yourself fat now!”

“You're... fat on the inside!” Jack huffed.

“That… doesn't even make any sense…”

Jack pointed a finger at him, “Listen, you smartass, you better stop that right now, or else I'll--”

“You’ll what?” he asked smugly, “I don't know if you've noticed, but you’re in no place to make threats. You're about a foot shorter than me and you’ve got no muscle. I could pummel you into the dirt if I wanted to, just like you did to me on the mountain a couple days ago. But I won't, ‘cause unlike you, I got standards. What do you got?”

“Oh, nothing…” said Jack, looking away sadly and putting his hands in his pockets, “just…” a smile flashed onto his face and he whipped out his trusty hunting knife, “THIS!”

Piggy held his arms up and tried to distance himself, eyes wide with fear.

“W-where did you--?”

“It doesn't matter,” he cut him off, “What does matter is that I have it, and…” he did an exaggerated version of Piggy's accent, which sounded even more strange as it was also in Piggy's voice, “ _unlike you_ …” he switched back to his regular accent, “I know how to use it.”

He laughed at this. Or, at least, Piggy assumed it was a laugh. It seemed something about halfway between a hiss and a snarl, and it sounded completely foreign coming from his own mouth, of all places.

“Now let's keep moving…” Jack sighed when he finished. He pressed the flat of the blade into Piggy's back as they walked along, the cold steel being only the second thing that sent chills down Piggy's spine.

The meeting Ralph held when they arrived was brief, and the content of it was nothing they hadn’t seen before. He begrudgingly welcomed back the hunters, recapped to everyone what he knew about what happened (which wasn’t much), and reviewed with them the rules… or something like that. Neither Jack nor Piggy paid much attention to it, the former for obvious reasons and the latter out of sheer nervousness. He was suffocating on the overwhelming air of betrayal that radiated off Jack’s former “tribe” and their constant glowering, yet vaguely hurt, looks.

After the meeting, Piggy thought he could gain at least some comfort in solitude and sleep. After all, he’d ruined Jack’s reputation with his hunting-obsessed peers, and while that clearly had some less-than-desirable consequences, one thing it did do was push away a crowd he didn’t much care for anyway. He might be able to lay down to rest now, lonesome but semi-contented. But, like most of Piggy’s hopes, these were quickly dashed.

“Ralph,” he overheard Jack say as he was tending to his shelter, “would you mind if I slept with Jack tonight instead?”

The question made Piggy take pause and poke his head out of his shelter.

“You’re… joking, right?” Ralph responded, his voice quizzical.

“No, no I’m not. I’m way too serious about every little, insignificant thing to even try to have a sense of humor.”

Ugh, was he still doing that? Piggy thought they’d finished with that silly game a couple hours ago…

“Well, no one’s stopping you,” replied Ralph, “but I just think it’s funny. Before, when he left, you were so happy that I’d swear you’d up and die from it, but now he’s back and all of a sudden you can’t seem to get enough of him. It’s just… it’s funny how that works…”

With that note they exchanged awkward goodnights, and Jack trudged over the shelter he and Piggy were to share. Piggy was still kneeling in and blocking the (very low) entrance, looking quite afraid to the point of petrification. Jack sighed and pulled out his knife again, but seemed way too tired at the moment to try to look menacing with it. Not that he really needed to, anyway.

“Move.”

“W-What’re you gonna do with--”

“I’m not going to do anything with it if you’d just get out of my way. Now move.”

Piggy complied and Jack entered and sat himself down. Piggy just stared at him while he tried to find a comfortable sleeping position, flinching at every slight movement. Jack noticed this as he turned onto his side and was quickly agitated.

“What’re you looking at? Go to sleep!”

“H-how can I?!” Piggy stammered, “How do I know you won't… stab me in my sleep or something?!”

“Oh please,” he dismissed the suggestion, tossing over, “I’m just here to make sure you don’t do anything I’d make you regret. Why would I ever do _that_ to you?”

“...Because you hate me!”

“True, true,” Jack conceded, “But think about my position here. I’m stuck in this fat, disgusting, blob of a body that I absolutely despise. And you’re in mine, and neither of us know how it happened or why, or how long this will last.”

“So…” Piggy was starting to figure it out, “since you don’t know, and you don’t want to be stuck in my body forever, you’ve got to keep me alive, right?”

“Yes.”

Piggy hummed a bit and lowered himself down to sleep, feeling at least a little safer.

“Wait,” he perked his head up, “does that mean this whole time you’ve been bluffing about the knife thing?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Jack shook his head, “I can’t do anything too serious, but can still give you a few good nicks if you start misbehaving. I won’t mind the scars.”

Piggy watched as his double removed his glasses and placed them on the ground beside him.

“You know,” he said, “for someone who’s gotten the short end of the stick with this whole thing, you’re taking it real well.”

“That’s because I’m sure this whole thing will run its course soon enough. I’m just doing all this with you out of precaution, really. Tomorrow morning, I bet, this whole thing will sort itself out. I mean, it has to, right? Right?”

Piggy didn’t respond, and instead just laid on his back, with his hands resting on his flat stomach, watching them rise and fall with his breath. He didn't _want_ to respond, because he knew what he would say wasn't what Jack wanted to hear.

“Right…” Jack answered himself uneasily, then rested his head on his squishy arms as if they were pillows, “I just- I can’t stand looking down at this blubbery thing for another minute. Whatever’s done this has to realize it’s gone on far enough. It- it has to...”

Piggy was gazing up now between the crevices of the shelter’s poorly constructed roof, into the sky above. There was a storm brewing.

“This is an awful mess we’re both in, isn’t it?”

The statement touched Jack oddly. There was a strange camaraderie in it, of two creatures snared in the same trap, both trying to claw their way out. A mutual pain.

“Yes, I suppose it is…”

**Author's Note:**

> might write more of this later because i've got some more ideas but ???????????? i'll see how this goes as is


End file.
